


Wax-Poetic

by Zeigarnik



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Scraps, Snippet, a conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeigarnik/pseuds/Zeigarnik
Summary: The Jester has a way with words that The Leper finds very interesting...





	Wax-Poetic

**Author's Note:**

> Not really a finished snippet, simply something I didn't feel was going anywhere but didn't want to scrap. So take it for what it is. Something more substantial will come later.

The man had a rather peculiar way with words that, from the very beginning, had left him with an air of allure that The Leper had found himself drawn to. The Jester could just as easily cut with his tongue as he could any knife, yet his voice was hypnotically melodic, and his words deceptively poetic. Had the Leper been an unwise man, he may have missed the crack about his manhood falling off should he be too rough with it that The Jester had thrown his way the very first time the two had spoke, and as mortified as those words had left him, The Leper found was curious for the man, and longed to know why he used such beautiful words to cut deeper than any weapon, even if his intentions seemed to merely be playful.

Surely some of their traveling companions were unable to keep up with the quick witted fool, as The Leper found himself often struggling to stifle quiet laughter at other’s unfortunate expense whenever The Jester indulged them with his company. They would stare with confused looks and sometimes even laugh half-heartedly along to seem as though they were just as quick on the uptake, but The Jester could see through their facade, and would only dig into an already open wound with his victim completely unaware.

Sometimes though as they sat around the campfire, he would spell his intentions out as simply as he could, and they would all take turns snickering at each other’s misfortune as his elegant jabs at his companions turned to more sadistic mockery that no one was safe from.

“Are you truly so uncaring towards your state of undress? Or is your unbridled masochism tainted with lechery for our enemies as well?” He would ask The Flagellant, and The Flagellant would growl and pull the rags of his cowl down over his chest just a little more.

“Ah, I knew that trinket of yours looked oddly familiar,” He would say to the Antiquarian. “And I was beginning to wonder why my pockets seemed to only feel lighter since we’ve left...” And the Antiquarian would lower her head in shame and embarrassment, gripping her bag a little tighter with guilt that everyone could see.

“Is this how a king leads his kingdom? Or how a fool leads a parade? I see no difference with you...” He would say to The Leper, and The Leper would smile, ignoring the others snickering quietly at him as he turned to face The Jester more fully. The Jester was watching him carefully, his body language betraying his silence that he was eagerly awaiting what he fully expected to be a wounded man struggling to keep his pride in tact. This wasn’t the case this time at all though...

“A king follows his people every bit as much as his people follow him, but you tell me, who does a fool follow?” The Leper asked, his voice cool as could be, and The Jester’s shoulders sagged slowly, his head lowering just a bit as he had never expected The Leper to so easily return words with him.

“If all are lucky then a fool follows no one and no one follows him.” The Jester said, and with a small shrug he turned away from the man who was staring at him, watching him and seemingly waiting for another jab. “It seems not to end that way far too often these days, however… wouldn’t you agree?”

“Perhaps… it depends who you might ask, I suppose.” The Leper said.

“Why not ask our little trope here? Following the words of of a mad man, that we know only of through a letter, down a dark hole to face horrors unknown for treasures we can only pray for…” The Jester said with a small sigh, his fingers strumming over the strings of his lute in an idle fashion.

Sometimes things were best said straight, with no flowery words or double meaning to hide somber messages.

“Are we not all fools, wandering in a place like this?”

And yet… from him, the darkest words still sound the most elegant.


End file.
